All of the Work, and None of the Glory
by Gyanara
Summary: "Feet First into Hell," although not all of us always make it back. Orbital Drop Shock Troopers are the best of the best, always in it until the last drop.  M for Violence


_This is my first Fanfiction :]_

_I made it short so you wouldn't have to_

_bear with it long in case its too painful!_

_All copyrights belong to their respective holders_

There is a moment in a man's life, one that will completely change the very person he is.

He will never see it coming, it will catch him off guard, and he will become anew. He will have the time to think about his new outlook, and use it to benefit his life and existence.

Some of us just don't get that fuckin' lucky.

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, as though counting down the seconds of my life. I could count "three, two, one," and then repeat, each countdown teasing me; tormenting me to be thrown off my guard. The earthmoving force that bound its way through the clunky metal egg around me, bounced off the straps securing him me place, and jiggled in the very cartilage between my bones. With a quick, reflex-like snap of my head, I heard the muffled screams and sounds of battle tearing at my fear. It was then that I knew, as I kicked down hard on the buttons at my feet, and as the air shot out around me, and the polarized screen slid down over my face, that it game time.

I rolled out to the side of my depleted drop pod, as my seat was now occupied by a sinisterly blue plasma grenade. I took off down the crater, the explosion heating the back of my neck, thinking of only getting into cover. Around me, was hell. The sky was a dark, evil gray, the clouds towering and menacing. Colorful, deadly blasts of plasma shot across a crater-pelted plain, small mountains marked the edges. Bodies scattered the area like the many petals that fall from the cherry blossom, only blackened by gunpowder, plasma burn, and hate.

"Suicide on site now, it's about time you all got here," an arrogant voice broke over my mission COM setting. I recognized the name as I jumped nimbly into a narrow ditch, bullets and plasma zinging and streaking overhead. Everyone knew Suicide, he was an artist with a grenade, and damned maniacal if kept around anything more explosive than a land mine. I displaced the M90 shotgun strapped to my hip and brought the trusty boom stick up to my shoulder. My heart pounded in my chest as I fired off a shot into a towering, shielded and horrendously powerful looking monster that had just turned the corner. The Elite fell to his knees, his life snuffed out. I turned and sat down, the shimmer that had been in my blind spot now outlined in red thanks to the visor strapped to my face. I fired again into the cloaked Elite standing over me, his full color creeping over him as his body thumped into the mud. I clambered out of the trench and ducked and dipped around the metal grates and wiring. Explosions thumped out my hearing temporarily as my helmet absorbed the shock. I stopped against an over turned Warthog and slammed a few more shells into my shot gun. Instantly regretting it, I looked up to see an ODST drop pod freshly pounding its self into the middle of a firefight.

That must've been Deel, now. The lid popped off as a shorter, stocker Hell-jumper threw himself from the device, only to have his moment wiped out with the crunch of his helmet as a thin purple beam shot right through it, his body flopping down the hill like a rag doll. "Deel is down!" I barked through the communications device near my chin, sweat building behind my mask. "Do you wanna save a piece of him to send home to Ma? Get your ass to that Pelican, Private!" a harsh, stern voice shot through my conscious. Sarge was right, and I wove through the large piles of dirt and slid down into the trenches, firing off my shot gun at anything that gave me the wrong look. There it was, burning on the highest point of the bumpy plain, the downed Pelican drop ship. On that drop ship would be a crate harboring an armed nuclear warhead. As soon as I scrambled to the top, I threw aside my empty weapon, snatched the silenced SMG strapped to my chest, and brought the weapon to ready. The squad was there, fighting for control of the hill as Suicide disarmed the nuke. I mechanically flipped my trigger and dropped two of the over-head flying drones, their plasma pistols falling into the mud around them. I raised the polarization on my helmet and steadied myself near the bomb.

Suicide's Explosive Ordinance Disposal helmet made him stick out amongst the rest of the group. I turned on my heel and pressed my trigger several times, the first crippling an oncoming Jackal, and the second one shooting the methane tanks sticking out from the top of two Grunt soldiers, their stubby limbs clawing at the breathers on their faces before they both fell over, twitching. "The candy gram is ready, boys," that same arrogant voice rang out as Suicide grabbed his side of the crate. I was harshly shoved out of the way as Sergeant Rose grabbed the other end. The man was a hardened ODST and wore a much-battle scarred, crimson RECON helmet that shielded his face as the two men lifted the bomb. I quickly snatched up a gun I saw lying astray inside the Pelican. Not wasting any time, I checked out the old BR55 battle rifle and shouldered the gun, scooping a few clips of ammunition into my leg pouch and swiftly catching up with the rest of the squadron. The gun was not as sleek as the newer models, but it packed just the same punch and was known to jam less than the snazzier new BR55HB SR rifles.

A thick green bolt of plasma brought me back to reality as it seared overhead, causing me to swear loudly and jump into the thick mud. I felt the skin blister on my back as the fuel rod cannon blast tore apart the stone behind me. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" I thought pleasantly and took cover behind the wreckage of a Covenant Ghost. I could see the burst of my gun shimmer off the purple hull as I fired into the Brute Chieftain that held the fuel rod cannon. The beast roared and charged, but fell with a sickening squish as I fired into his exposed cranium, his monstrous head snapping back grotesquely. It flopped down like a dead fish, and the shattered bones and skin of its face gave way to the Laws of Motion as the contents of the Brutes head pushed through. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and turned away, dirt crunching under my boots, bullets zinging overhead.

I caught up to the group spread out along a half-standing wall. "Private, I don't know where the hell you've been, but take that God damned dinosaur of a rifle and help Mathes cover us! We're taking the bomb through this trench and the Drones have needlers!" Sergeant screamed at me. I simply shouted "Yes sir!" like a good little robot and took my position against the end of the wall. Suddenly a large clap, a flash, and a boom louder than anything on the battlefield, rang across the sky. Thick, wet blobs of rain began to splash down. A yell from Mathes, the most experienced sniper on the team, brought me to reality. "Say again!" I yelled, feeling stupid. The stocky ODST shook his head and shouldered his long and accurate Designated Marksman Rifle, repeating "The rain will cover me. Draw the fire from the drones and I'll start shooting. We'll switch off!" I confirmed with a nod and raised my gun. I could hear my heart beat flowing through my ears as my fingers grew numb, the convulsions of the gun jarring my shoulder into a dull throb. Drones dropped like flies as the two covered the group that moved down into the trench. Mathes stood up and made to run for the trench and regroup with everyone else, but despite my screams, it happened.

Two Banshees came down overhead, their engines screaming over top of everything else. It was like time slowed down as I ran across the clearing to get to Mathes, I scooped up a small ball at my feet that was a navy blue. It began to shine bright as I held it in my hands. I screamed for the sniper to get down, but he couldn't hear me over the crack of his rifle. I thumbed down the control of the plasma grenade and launched it as hard as I could as the aircraft swooped in. The first one dodged my grenade, and effectively clipped Mathes with its wing, knocking the soldier hard into the dirt. The second Banshee spun out of control as the plasma grenade stuck to its hull, blowing the aircraft into pieces a good ways away. I don't know what egged me on, but I leapt across the field and grabbed the man under his drop harness, dragging him towards the trench. Covenant dropped all around me as the squad gave cover, all I had to do was drag this man fifty yards in No-Mans land.

That was until I had to throw myself into the dirt, and into the rapidly thickening rain as a glowing spike grenade embedded its self into the fallen snipers chest. I bit down hard as a pain like a hot white knife stabbed into my side. I scrambled up, limped and hobbled my way into the trench, not looking back. If there's one thing I ever learned, it's never look back. The group said nothing about the deaths of Deel and Mathes as they pushed forward, the rain thundering down, the Banshees streaking overhead. I yanked the spike from my side and filled the wound with Biofoam before taping it up, the sensation of a thousand fire ants crawling into my wound making me wheeze slightly. I could hear the despair in our footsteps, I sensed the fear in the men I had trained with, but we were all ODSTs, we were in it until the last drop. I squeezed my rifle harder and held the rear, carefully checking behind me.

"Gentlemen, we have a bit of a situation," that voice once again spoke out, the arrogance gone, wiped clean. I looked up and bumped into Sarge who punched me hard in the shoulder. I checked again and swallowed. I counted six, no, eight Phantom drop ships, loaded with new waves of Covenant, fly directly overhead. Gunfire erupted around me as Brutes, Elites, Grunts and Jackals flooded down into the maze-like structure of the trench. My heart fell first when I saw Suicide, an ancient model M6D magnum firing off in his hands, causing Grunts to do back flips, fall to his knees, a thin purple beam of energy blasting through his chest. He began to scream and continued to fire the magnum with one hand, and a pink, Covenant carbine fired off with his other. I looked away as two more beams snuffed him into the dirt like a spent cigarette. I turned with my battle rifle and kicked an oncoming Jackal square in its ugly beaked head. The creature crumbled under my boot and I fired again into a pack of grunts, causing them to drop their plasma grenades and create a large explosion. The Covenant closed in, and Sergeant Rose threw open the hatch of the crate and said "Detonate the bomb!" before I heard a large swish and a crash, a force bouncing the old veteran over top of the crate, and into a crumpled heap in the mud. I turned to see the large golden Brute, gravity hammer in hand, stand up and roar in victory. My squad members were fallen around me, the Covenant closed in on our last chance to help the Spartans get inside the mountains.

"Spartans, some heroes," I thought bitterly as I looked up to see a small patch of sunlight in the clouds. It was so golden, so beautiful, but soon faded away as a monstrous Scarab walker clambered over top of the mountains, the trenches, everything. I reached over and slammed my hand on the big red button. "Some people just get all the glory," I thought, as my pain, fear and horror was gone in a flash of white.


End file.
